In Friendship's Guise eBook

He returned to the station, and was whirled on through
the flat, green country to the charming Sussex village
of Pevensey, with its ruined old castle and rambling
street, and the blue line of the Channel flashing in
the distance. His journey did not end here, and
he was impatient to continue it. He procured
a horse and trap at the Railway Arms, gleaned careful
instructions from the landlord, and drove back a few
miles along the hedge-lined roads, while the sea faded
behind him.

It was eleven o’clock when he reached the retired
little hamlet of Dunwold. He put up his vehicle
at a quaint old inn, and refreshed himself with a
simple lunch. Then he sought the vicarage, hard
by the ancient church with its Norman tower, and,
on inquiring for Mr. Chalfont, he was shown into a
sunny library full of books and Chippendale furniture,
with flowers on the deep window-seats and a litter
of papers on the carved oak writing-desk.

The vicar entered shortly—­an elderly gentleman
of benevolent aspect and snowy beard, but sturdy and
lithe-limbed for his years, clearly one of those persons
who seemed predestined for the placidity of clerical
life. After a penetrating glance he greeted his
visitor most graciously, and expressed pleasure at
seeing him.

“I am sure that you are a stranger to the neighborhood,”
he continued. “Our fine old church draws
many such hither. If you wish to go over it,
I can show you many things of interest—­”

“At another time,” Jimmie interrupted,
“I should be only too delighted. I regret
to say that it is quite a different matter that brings
me here—­hardly a pleasant one. This
will partly explain, Mr. Chalfont.”

He presented the letter Sir Lucius had given him,
and when it had been opened and read he poured out
the whole story of Diane’s life and end, of
the charge against Jack Vernon, and the clew that the
murdered woman had revealed to her landlady.

The vicar rose from his chair, showing traces of deep
agitation and distress.

“A friend of Sir Lucius Chesney is a friend
of mine,” he said, hoarsely. “I shall
be glad to help you—­to do anything in my
power to clear your friend. I believe that he
is innocent. Your sad story has awakened old
memories, Mr. Drexell. And it is a great shock
to me, as you will understand when I tell you all.
I seldom read the London papers, and it comes as a
blow and a surprise to me that Diane Merode has been
murdered.”

“Then you know her by that name?” exclaimed
Jimmie. “This is indeed fortunate, Mr.
Chalfont. I feared that you would find it difficult
to identify the woman—­to recall her.
And the man whom she proclaimed as her enemy—­do
you know him?”